is but crossing the world
by tombombadillo
Summary: this is the comfort of friends, that thought they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal - William Penn
1. Chapter 1

**This is basically what you're getting because I can't make my follower count go up on twitter and I'm sulking about it. (also, p.s. sorry Papa!Beckett, I've made you seem like a bit of a bastard. I know you're not. I love you really).**

**Disclaimer: can I be part of the Bishop family as well as the Castle family that would be great**

* * *

_Do not stand at my grave and weep_

_I am not there. I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow._

_I am the diamond glints on snow._

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._

_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry._

_I am not there. I did not die._

* * *

Jim Beckett takes it like he should. He lets Richard Castle scream himself hoarse, even when most of the screaming is aimed at him. He lets him because he knows what it feels like. He knows what it's like to lose someone, to suddenly feel like you're missing an arm, or a leg. Maybe even both. Your world is so off kilter, and it doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense, and the only way it can is to try and block it out. To try and ignore the empty hospital bed and the silent machinery. For Jim, it was constantly trying to find the end of the bottle, sinking into a routine of one drink after another, because as long as he had that drink in his hand he could forget about his wife's death, and he could forget about his only daughters determination to get the people who did it. And now, for Castle, it's screaming. Jim wouldn't change his decision. He wouldn't go back on what he did, even though he knows Castle hates him right now. Hell, even he hates himself. And honestly, he feels okay about it. Yes, he's lost his wife, and now he's lost his daughter, and he's about to lose the man who was more of a son than an in-law, nut he can live with that. It's been twelve years since he last had a drink, twelve years of forcing himself out of that hole. And it's all been worth it, if only it was to see Kate be happy again. And she was. She was _so_ happy. She let go of her mother's death, just as he did, and it was all down to Castle. That an amazing, _amazing_ man who forced himself into her life and stayed there and helped her, even though she didn't want it. Stayed because he saw the potential, saw what she could be without all the grief, pulling and holding her down.

Castle feels numb. He knows it's just a matter of time before his legs give up on him and he ends up in a mess on the floor. And he can't be a sobbing, broken mess on the floor of a hospital because any minute, any minute Kate is going to walk in through that door. Thin, and pale and frail, but she's alive and she's breathing and awake, and this horrible, _horrible_ joke can just be forgotten. Because it has to be a joke. It can't be anything else. Jim Beckett, her own flesh and blood, her _father_, he's… he'd been away for a morning. A meeting that he'd been putting off for far too long, and Gina had promised that she'd keep it short. Promised that if it got past eleven then he could just walk, stroll or jog out of that room and she wouldn't chastise him. It's half eleven when he'd gotten back to the hospital and he'd gotten himself a coffee, had planned on drinking it in between reading to her. Only when he'd got there, he'd found the room, along with a solemn looking doctor, and a remarkably calm Jim Beckett. Kate's still lying in the bed, lifeless, just as he'd left her last night. Nothing's changed. Except the way that Jim is looking at him. Looking at him like … like… he's…

* * *

"Rick." Castle shakes his head furiously, feeling the anger and the confusion build up in his chest. No. No he wouldn't. He wouldn't. Not without talking to him first. He'd never dare. "Rick, I… I signed the papers." The coffee is a puddle on the floor, long forgotten by Castle who just stares at his father-in-law. The man can't be serious. He's having a laugh. "She's gone, Rick. I know you haven't given up on her, and I wish I could see a way out of this, I really wish I could. But the scans, they're coming back empty. She's just a shell. We're keeping her alive, but she's not coming back. You have to accept it."

"No." Castle moves, pushes past the doctor forcefully, standing in front of the machinery as if he has some hope of blocking them from it. "No, she – I know her. I know her and she wouldn't go – she'd put up a fight. Kate wouldn't just leave me. She's my _wife_, and she –" he sucks in a breath, tries to stop the onslaught of hysteria that's threatening to overwhelm him. "She's in there. I know she's in there, we just need to give her time."

"She's had time. It's been six months. Rick, you need to let her go."

"No."

"Rick, she'd want you to."

"You don't know what she'd want! You don't know!"

"She wouldn't want you to live with false hope. You're spending your life in this hospital room. When was the last time you spent some time with your daughter? With Martha? You are wasting your life away, and if she could Kate would be telling you to move on. _Let her go."_

He can't talk anymore. He can't. He can only stare dumbly at the man who has just signed Kate's life away. Without discussing it with him. He's just made his mind up and that was that. One scribble of his pen and he's lost his wife, his best-friend and his muse. That was it. Gone. "You can't do this." He bends over the bed, hands gripping the railing until his knuckles blanch. "You can't. Why couldn't you ask me?"

"Because I knew you'd take it like this." Jim replies, far too calmly and it makes Castle want to punch him. "You'd never have made the decision if it was you having to make it."

"It shouldn't have to be a decision!"

"I'm sorry, Rick. I really am. I know how you-"

"Don't tell me you know how I feel!" he shouts. "You don't! You have no idea!"

Jim's eyes narrow, fix on Castle. "My wife died, Castle. Katie's mother died. Do not think that I don't have just a small clue about this."

"You just signed Kate away! How is that the same!?"

Jim takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "Say your goodbyes, Rick."

* * *

Castle doesn't talk at the funeral. He sits on the front row, eyes dull and dreary behind his sunglasses, too hot and uncomfortable in his black suit under the sun. He can't say a single word about Kate without his throat closing up, his mind going back to the way she looked before. The day before. The day before when they'd walked through New York City, hand in hand, letting the snowflakes fall on their faces. He's happy. He's so happy, and Kate's looking up at him from under those long dark eyelashes, her eyes dark in the winter night. She's alive, and warm and next to him and enjoying the fresh January snow, the magic of Christmas still bursting through their skin. And he can't go up there and even try because he's so damn scared of what's going to happen. The last time he was at a funeral it ended with an unanswered I love you and the never fading blood on his hands. And now he's at Kate's funeral and the blood is still on his hands.

Ryan gives a stirring speech, but Castle remains stony faced. Esposito, next to him has his jaw set, tears in his eyes but refusing to fall. Lanie is openly crying, her hand gripping Javi's like a vice. And Ryan, Ryan the glue that holds them all together so effectively is standing up there and talking about his wife, his Kate, who's dead. She's dead. She's gone. He's never going to wake up in the morning with her stretched out across him, eyes slow and so full of love in the morning light. He's never going to have a child with her. Never gets to laugh at how grumpy she gets, or how she'd take every opportunity to jump him. Never gets to sit next to a hospital bed and watch the tiny human wrap their fingers around her thumb. The thought makes him want to run. Makes him want to leave everyone here, frozen in time, forever in their funeral clothes, and just _go._ Somewhere. _Anywhere._

He doesn't notice until he's getting back into the black car that's going to take him back to the loft. Not that he wants to. Anywhere but there, but there's no where else he can go. Everywhere else contains just as many memories, ones that were once happy but now they're just painful reminders of what he had, and now what he's lost. But there's a flash of brown hair – long, sensuous, a waterfall down the back – and he's halfway out of the car before it disappears. Into thin air. Just his imagination. That's all it is.

Every second it takes for the elevator to ascend is horrendous. It's slow and too quick, all at the same time. He wants to be inside and away from the world, and yet he wants to be as far away from this place as he could possibly be.

The key jams and he has to force it harder than necessary. The door swings open onto the dark expanse of his loft, except his kitchen is lit up. His kitchen is full of light, spilling out onto the surfaces, and, more importantly, onto Kate Beckett. Kate Beckett who he just buried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Because everyone's freaking out at me on twitter, and it's making me laugh, so I'm taking pity on them and writing chapter two at ONE AM IN THE MORNING.**

**Disclaimer: does that not say enough.**

* * *

He drops his keys. Stumbles back against the door until it slams shut and he slides down it into a crumpled heap at the bottom. Kate's just watching him. She doesn't talk, she doesn't move, she just sits there and watches him. It's an intense stare, going straight through and hitting the very core of him. And all he can do is look right back. She doesn't look like she's been in a coma for six months. She doesn't like her car skidded on a patch of black ice and straight into the path of an lorry, her body broken and bent in among a twisted metal cage. She looks like she did on their honeymoon. Her legs are long and brown and strong, bare underneath – his shirt, she's wearing his shirt – and it's just how he remembers her on holiday, with sand between her toes and her skin tasting of sun cream and ocean. Remembers the way he'd spend minutes at a time with his arms wrapped around her waist and his mouth pressed against her shoulder because he just couldn't stand not tasting her.

And now, now it's almost like they're back there, and he wants to know that if he goes up to her and wraps his arms around her waist, would she smell the same? Or would she smell like hospitals, too clean and white? He wants to see. He so desperately wants to move from where he is and just pull her against him. He doesn't care what she smells like. It's been six months since he's been able to touch her, to run his hands across the smooth firmness of her abdomen, to feel her muscles tense as he teases her. Wants to spread his palms across the curve of her spine as she arches against him, feel her hot and wet around him. But he daren't move. He _can't_ move. He's stuck there.

It's Kate that makes the first move. Slips off the stool and walks towards him. There's something not quite… right about it. Castle can't put his finger on it, but there's something off. Something other than the fact that he's just come back from her funeral and now she's standing in their loft – his loft? Fuck, he doesn't know – like it's no big deal. She kneels in front of him, eyes never leaving his face. She doesn't even look down to the floor to check where she's landed. Her eyes are constantly – always on him.

"Kate?" It comes out as a strangled sob, his throat constricting around it.

Kate doesn't answer. Just blinks at him. Kneels there with her hands clasped in her lap, the wedding ring dull in the shadows of the doorway. The… wedding ring. The wedding ring that he has in his pocket. He refused to let it be buried, needs to keep it. But there it is. The spitting image resting nonchalantly on Kate's finger. That doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense.

"Kate – Kate you're – I just buried – I went to your funeral. You're dead. How're you…" he trails off as Kate tilts her head at him, but there's no emotion in her face. Her features are blank, expressionless. So unlike the passionate Kate he knew. Knows. He doesn't understand this. It doesn't make any _sense._ He reaches out a tentative hand, prepares himself to watch her vanish in front of his eyes. But she doesn't. He can feel the slope of her cheekbone underneath his fingers, the soft powdery feel so achingly familiar to him. But she's cold. He can feel the chill radiating from her, feels it seeping into his skin.

"How are you here?"

Still silence. Still looking at him, she just won't stop. He forces himself up, forces himself away from her. He's barely got a grasp on the idea that she's _gone_ as it is, and now he's trying to get his mind around this apparent miracle that's greeted him when he comes home. He stumbles into the study, flicks on the light so he can see. He's still finding it hard to breath, trying to force oxygen past the tightness of his throat with giant gasping breaths. Kate hasn't followed him, she's still crouched in front of the door. He doesn't know if she's turned her head to look at him, or whether she's just _there_ and _staring_ at the door but he daren't look back. He wants to. He's so hopelessly drawn to her, even if it's just a bump of a hip, a passing hand at her waist, he needs to know she's there. Needs to alleviate the craving he has for her, even if it's just for a minute. But he can't look back at her now, can't, because he knows that as soon as he does he's not going to be able to let her go. He'd have to pull her up by her hands, pulling her into him until the pieces fit, her head fitting just under his chin. And he's well aware that he'd stay there all night and the rest of the day if it just meant she was there.

His bed is as unwelcoming as it always has been in the past half a year, but he shucks his jacket, kicks off his jacket and pulls his tie from around his neck and sinks down heavily onto it. He's used to his bed being empty, it's been empty for six months and getting under the covers, leaving Kate's side untouched almost helps, keeping that ritual. It's not late. It's barely nine o clock, the sun is still up and the city is still alive with people, but he's exhausted. He just wants to lie in bed and not think and not do, and maybe spend a week not thinking and not doing before he tries to get his life back to normal. Or something resembling normal. Hell, he doesn't want normal. He wants extraordinary. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He can't cry. He really – once he starts crying he's not going to be able to stop.

The bed dips suddenly, the sound of the covers being drawn back. His heart stutters in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out any noises that Kate makes as she slides in next to him. Turns on her side. At least her stare isn't quite so intense. It's more pitying. Softer. He could almost bare to look at her, and if he wasn't screwing his eyes shut and trying to block her out. She's not real. She can't be real. It's just his imagination playing tricks on him. He chants it, over and over again and the monotony of it, _not real, not real, not real, _soon lulls him into a light sleep. He doesn't dream. He doesn't move. He just lies there, still in his shirt and trousers, the only sign of movement is the flicker of his eyelids, quick and jerky. The sun sets slowly, stealing the light from the room and the light from lamps outside soon take over. Hours pass, and it's not until the light from a new day has filled the room that Castle finally stirs. He grunts twists over on his side. The bed is empty – and it's almost like it's always been, like she never even slept in it.

Castle looks around his carefully, scanning the corners of the room, scrabbling out of bed to check the bathroom, his study, the kitchen. Upstairs is clear too. She's gone, and he's alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I told myself that I would write this until Transformers had finished playing, and if I hadn't finished by the time it had then I would finish it tomorrow. Needless to say, that did not happen.**

**Disclaimer: oops it's nearly 3am?**

* * *

He almost slips over when the shower door opens, stumbles backwards against the wall. Kate doesn't come in straight away, stands there with the steam curling around her naked body. Her skin is near flawless, the scar at her ribs pink and pale, the small circle of puckered skin in between her breasts barely visible. Looking nothing like the Kate from the past few months. Her stare isn't as intense, her eyes that magic mix between hazel and green that used to greet him in the mornings. She doesn't speak a word as she steps in with him, doesn't even blink as the jet of water hits her. It catches on her hair, her eyelashes, but she still ignores the stream of water into her eyes. Just stands there, leaving him enough room to wash. He twists himself away from her, reaches out for the body wash with a trembling hand. He tries to wash, but her arms are around him, restricting his movement. The cold of her skin is a surprise, especially since she's been standing under hot water, and it makes his skin crawl. Kate's skin is supposed to be warm and soft, pliable, her curves fitting against his in a way that just feels _right_. But this… this Kate, she's cold and hard, her hip bones too sharp, her skin too thin against her rib cage.

"Castle."

He almost doesn't hear it over the sound of the shower. Barely catches it over the thundering of his own heart. She whispers it, sounds almost like when she wakes him up in the morning with her mouth ghosting across his jaw, her hand already slipping under his shirt, nails scraping against the skin underneath his belly button.

It's the first time she's spoken, the first time she's the one to reach out and touch him. He's tried to avoid her, tried to override his brains natural instinct just to reach out for her. Even if it's just to slide his fingers through her hair, or tuck a stray curl behind her ear, a brush of fingers around a coffee mug, he likes that physicality, that phantom feeling that stays in his fingertips for a few moments afterwards. It's like a drug, something that he can't go without for long periods of time, has to keep going back for more. Only, it's different now. She's different. She's not _real_. As much as he loves the paranormal and believing in ghosts and vampires and aliens and werewolves, he knows it's just fantasy. She isn't a ghost, or some ethereal being, hell, she's not even a zombie. But he just can't rid himself of her. That (admittedly large) part of his brain that is so finely tuned to her just won't let her go. Refuses to believe that she has actually gone and that she's not coming back.

"Castle."

"Ka-Kate, I –" his breath is shaky, and it's suddenly so hard to breath, the steam catching in his throat and making him choke.

He twists the dial for the shower rather more forcefully than necessary, the water going from hot to cold in seconds, hitting his skin in an icy spray. It makes him gasp, that instinct pushing him backwards and away from it. It's almost too late before he realises that he's just going to find himself closer to Kate, and he tries to stop but it's too late. And yet, he never hits her. His back hits the glass wall with a harsh squeak, and the momentum makes his feet slide along the floor, his back squeaking down the glass until he's sat on the floor, his knees drawn up against his chest to try and protect himself from the onslaught of water.

* * *

_She's laughing at him. Dancing away on nimble feet, bottom lip caught between her teeth. There's snowflakes caught in her hair, tied up in two loose plaits that make her look five years younger. He's standing there, completely struck dumb by her (what's new, honestly), the snowball that he was planning on throwing at her is limp in his hand._

"_Stop being a baby, Castle. Throw the damn snowball at me."_

"_I don't want to." He hesitates, dropping it back into the snow. "I'm not stupid enough to start a snowball war with you. No. Not happening."_

_Kate raised any eyebrow at him, far too amused. "Scared?"_

"_Yes. You're very scary when you're on a mission. I have firsthand experience of you on a mission. I still have the bruise on my shin when you insisted on seducing me in the back seat of my car and I fell and landed on the handbrake. And I won't mention the time that you were that impatient to get in through the door that my jacket got caught on the handle and you just ripped it away! I had a giant hole!"_

_Kate smirked, and walked towards him until she could stand in between his legs. "It was worth it though, right? The bruised shin, and the torn jacket?"_

"_Not forgetting that lamp you broke on my desk."_

"_I seem to remember that being your fault. You tugged on my shoe too hard."_

_Castle wrapped an arm around her waist, tugged her closer until her hips jerked into his. Her eyes darkened slightly, her cheeks flushed pink from that vague hint of arousal and the biting cold of Central Park. "I was writing, and you came along and started doing inappropriate things while sat on my desk."_

"_I'd been trying to get your attention for ten minutes. Desperate measures, you know." She nipped at the soft skin of his jaw, grinned when his fingers tightened against her jacket. "Pay attention to me next time and maybe I won't let you get so worked up."_

"_You're so hot when you get bossy. I say scrap the snowball fight. Pillow fights are definitely all the rage right now."_

"_I don't want a pillow fight, Castle."_

"_Urgh, you're such a spoil sport."_

"_Well, I was going to suggest something a little bit more fun and doesn't ruin pillows at the same time, but if your heart is set on a pillow fight then I guess I'll just have to oblige…"_

* * *

He has no idea why this memory keeps playing over and over in his head. It cuts out before it can get to the pillow fight, and he's glad. He's glad because when they're both sweaty and naked and sated and only a little bit covered in feathers he rolls over, takes a few seconds of peace to let her stroke her fingertips across his cheekbone, her eyes tender and full of so much love, love that she can confess as easily as asking for a cup of coffee, and he asks her to marry him. He doesn't think he could live right now if that was what he was watching in his mind. He'd scream, and he'd go crazy. Or crazier. For all he knows he's already lost it, daunted by the loss of his wife, the grief tearing him apart from the inside. God, the press would have a field day.

Richard Castle, best-selling author, who hasn't left the loft in days, has two days worth of stubble because there's no one around to complain about it being too scratchy on her skin, has only changed out of his pyjamas to get into the shower. They'd spin it out of control, he'd never be left alone. Paula and Gina have been magnificent, herding away the press, handling statements and leaving him to grieve. He knows he can't stay like that forever, knows that one day he'll have to face the world, and the press, and the prospect of writing something that isn't Nikki Heat. He knows that's it for Nikki and Rook, couldn't possibly bear the idea of writing their story when he doesn't have a hope of finishing his own. Truth be told, he doesn't need to write anything else. He has more than enough money to tide himself over until his heart stops beating and his lungs stop breathing. Alexis isn't so dependent on him anymore, her own life starting its own path, and really Martha isn't as high maintenance as he makes her out to be.

* * *

Alexis greets him with a tight but warm smile as she steps in through the door, grief still etched into her mouth, her eyes. Even her nose. She's tried to be there for him, tried to help him through it all, but she's struggling to break through. And he wishes he could make it easier on her, wishes that they could help each other through it. But he can't. He's too caught up in the way that his room is too quiet at night, one heartbeat instead of two, the sound of her soft breathing that usually lulls him into a deep sleep is missing. She doesn't curl up next to him on the couch anymore, her toes no longer wriggling under his thighs to steal his body heat, her hands don't play with the hair at the nape of his neck while she's reading, almost like she doesn't know she's doing it. He doesn't think about what Kate and Alexis did, the Christmas shopping and the baking and the girly afternoon's where he was kicked out of the loft in favour of ice cream and girly movies. He hates himself for it, hates that he just can't be there for his daughter. She loved Kate too, even though they had their difficulties, he knows that they loved each other.

"Hey, Dad." He smiles back at her but he barely notices the twitch at the corners of his lips. "I bought food. I didn't know if you'd eaten, so…"

He shakes his head because really food is the farthest thing from his mind. He doesn't feel hungry anymore. He's just numb to everything. Alexis is already pouring soup into a saucepan, fishing two bowls out. He forces himself off the sofa, stretches and feels the bones in his shoulders and back crack. "How are you?"

"I'm coping." She replies, bringing the stove to life with a flick of her wrist. "Work is keeping me distracted." She turns her eyes on him, pale and blue. "I'm just… I'm worried about you."

He has the grace to look sheepish, looks down at his shuffling feet. "I know, I… I've not been easy, and…"

"Don't apologise, Dad. I'm not expecting you to apologise. You're grieving, you shouldn't have to. But it's been a month and a half, and I'm not expecting you to have moved on. I'm really not. But when was the last time you were dressed? Or talked to Ryan and Esposito? You're getting stuck in this rut and I'm scared that you're going to be in it forever, and I don't want to lose my dad to it. I loved Kate, you know I did, but I don't want to see you so completely caught up in her that you forget you still have people who love you, and who would do anything for you." She turned away abruptly, stirs at the soup with a spoon, and he feigns deafness when he hears the telltale sniffle.

"I keep… seeing her." He begins, sliding onto one of the bar stools. "When I got back from the funeral she was… standing in the kitchen. It was like she'd never been in a car crash. And she was … she felt real. I could touch her." Alexis looks at him, fear suddenly flooding into her eyes. "I know she's not real. She's not a ghost, or… whatever. It's not _her_. Something just doesn't feel right about her, and it's just my mind playing tricks on me. But no matter what I do, I can't make her go away."

"Is she… here now?" Alexis ventures, turning off the now boiling soup.

Castle shakes his head, doesn't even need to look around to know. "I don't understand it. I know it's not her. I know there is no possible way that she's magically come back from the dead, so why do I keep seeing her?"

His daughter pushes a steaming bowl towards him, complete with spoon, and regards him with her own lip between her teeth, chewing on it. "I… don't know what you want me to say to that."

"I don't know what I want you to say to it either." He huffed, and it was almost, _almost_ a laugh. "I don't know if I'm going crazy, or what."

"I can get you an appointment with a doctor. They'd know, right? They must have dealt with this kind of things."

He nods in agreements, stirs the soup round and round with his spoon. "Yeah…"

"Don't tell me you want to live like this, Dad. Please don't tell me that living the rest of your life being haunted by her is what you want."

"It's not. Believe me, it's not. Truth be told, I'm terrified when she's… here. But in a way… it feels almost like home. But, no, Alexis. I'll phone the doctors. I can't depend on you forever."


	4. Chapter 4

**Short chapter, I know, but I quite liked the ending where it is and I couldn't think of anything to put in the middle of the chapter. Plus it's like 2am in the morning and I want sleep.**

**Disclaimer: Merlin ends on Monday I am so not ready for it**

* * *

Accepting that he needs help is harder than actually getting it. Sure, he's looked up psychiatrists and self-help and tried to tell himself over and over again that she's not real. If he doesn't believe in her then she'll go away. He should have known that it wouldn't be that easy. Kate is stubborn, and he knows she won't go away without a fight, whether she's real or not. And it's like she knows what he's trying to do. She hovers more, is in his bed every night, and he knows she doesn't sleep. Knows the hours are spent lying there and staring at him. During the day, when he's trying to live his life as normally as he possibly could she curls up in an armchair, her eyes unfocused but still moving in his direction. It's like she's a couple of seconds behind, looking where he has been and not where he is.

He spends the days trying to devour one book after another, as if losing himself in somebody else's world would help him ignore his own. It works, for a while. Tolkien, Rowling, Green, Clare, Lewis, he turns their pages in some of frantic energy, eyes rushing back and forth over the sentences. And when he looks up, maybe she's a little bit paler, a little less _there_, but just as present. And of course, now he's recognised her presence it doesn't take long for her to become solid again.

Some days it fails spectacularly. Some days he spends wrapped in his comforter and his sheets, foetal on his bed, the world around him dark because he can't bear the sight of her, the way her eyes are full of sorrow, for him and for her, the shadows her cheekbones cast against her skin and her hair like a halo around her head, dark against the white sheets of his bed. She doesn't try to touch him, not anymore. She's real enough to notice when he flinches, real enough to understand that this is hurting him even though there's nothing he can do about it. Nothing she can do either. It's his mind that's dreaming her up. His mind that's keeping her here.

It's during one of these periods when Alexis finds him. He knows she's been worried sick about him, has had too much work to do for college to be there consistently for him, and he'd never ask her to put his life ahead of hers. He knows he's not been eating well. It's obvious. His shirts are baggy and none of his trousers will stay up without a belt anymore. But he's not hungry. He's rarely hungry.

* * *

"Dad?" Her voice is muffled from inside his cocoon, and it takes him a few seconds for him to steel himself to shift the blankets so he can actually look at his daughter. "Dad… how long have you been lying there?"

Castle shrugs. He genuinely doesn't know. Time has this habit of going really quickly, or really slowly, days and nights and minutes and hours all blurring together into a never ending moment of pure gut wrenching grief. By the feel of the stubble on his chin, maybe a day and a half has passed since he stumbled in here. He didn't even kick his shoes off, is slowly coming aware of the cramped feel of his toes.

"Dad – you need to get out of bed."

He shakes his head violently, but the lack of food and drink has made him light headed and the room spins unpleasantly. "Can't."

"She's … Kate's not here."

"You can't see her." He moaned, pulling his knee's further up his chest. "She's there. I know she is."

"You're not looking." Alexis admonishes , crouching down next to the bed.

"I can feel her." He mumbles in retaliation. "Alexis, I-"

"Dad, I know this is hard. I know. I miss Kate too. But you need to stop festering. Kate wouldn't want you to be like this."

"You don't think I know that?" he snaps, glaring at her. "You don't think I want to spend my time like this?" Alexis closed her eyes and looked down at the ground, chewed on her bottom lip. "Alexis, I didn't – I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand." She smiles at him, the edges a little watery, but it's a smile and he'll take it. "At least have a shave. Get in the shower."

He huffs at her, but she knows him well enough to know that he's not really annoyed. "Make me some coffee?" he pleads, making his eyes go as big and as wide as is physically possible. Oh, he's always been good at the puppy dog look.

Alexis narrows her eyes at him, and he knows he's got her caught. "Only if you shower."

"I will, I will. I'll be out in a few minutes."

* * *

Alexis leaves him with her hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as she passes. He waits until she's gone before he throws back the covers. He doesn't look to see if she's there. Daren't let himself crawl back into bed and ignore her. If he doesn't look she's not there. He stumbles through his bathroom with his eyes still closed, knows it well enough that he manages it with only a stubbed down on the cabinet. The shower itself is easy enough, though he may have used the shower gel as shampoo and vice versa, but it doesn't make much of a difference. Shaving, on the other hand, is hard to do with both eyes open, let alone none. He tries to squint, messes it up on occasions, but all in all, he thinks he's done an alright kind of job. There's a patch under his chin that he's missed entirely, and he's cut himself more often than not, but whatever. He can live. His daughter has seen worse.

He even gets dressed. It's only an old pair of jeans and a v-neck jumper, but he's dressed and he feels okay? He's still scared to turn around, still scared of catching her eye when he's not expecting it, but if he focuses on Alexis then it seems to lessen slightly, that feeling of hard, twisting panic in his stomach.

"Coffee's by the phone," Alexis tells him as she's got her head in the fridge. "You want an omelette? The eggs need eating."

He surprises himself when his stomach gives a happy gurgle, pleased with the prospect of food. "Yeah. Omelette sounds nice."

"Good. Can you pass me the frying pan?"

* * *

"Hey, Dad, I was wondering." Castle looks up from his almost empty plate to his daughter on the opposite side of the table, omelette finished long ago. "Do you want me to move back here? I mean, I know I'm here for Christmas and Thanksgiving and things, but I don't mind coming back if you need me. I worry about you. Grams is off doing her own thing, and I'm at college and work, and I was just… wondering. If having somebody around the house would help. I mean, now, you're eating and you don't seem to be that worried and you don't keep looking around trying to work out where Kate… is, and… you just seem a lot better."

"Alexis - I don't want to be a burden. You have your own life, and you shouldn't have to be the one to deal with my problems."

Alexis shakes her head and pushes her plate away. "Dad, this is one problem that I cannot help you solve. But… I can be here to keep you busy, and distracted and fed. That's what you need. You need to get back to living your life, and maybe if Kate see's that then she won't be here anymore."

"I'm… scared." He sighed. "I'm scared she'll think I'm giving up on her."

"Kate's gone. She's gone, and this version of her that you're imagining isn't real. You fought tooth and nail to get them to stop turning the life support off. If Kate was in there, she knew you weren't giving up. She's always known that you'd never give up on her."

"Why do you always have to be right?"

"One of us has to be. I have work in for tomorrow and a shift at the morgue after, but the day after tomorrow, I'll bring all my stuff back. You don't have to help, if you don't feel up to going outside. I know there's reporters still after you."

"I'll have a think about it."

"Great." She grinned. "Have you finished with your omelette?"

He finishes it off with a couple more large bites, shoves the plate across to her and smiles, the food still in his mouth. "Gross, Dad. You look like a hamster."


	5. Chapter 5

**It's half two am and I'm not even tired, this is crazy, I haven't been able to stay up this late in moooooooooooonths. It also really does not help that iPlayer has a load of films AND I WILL KEEP WATCHING THEM, CURSE YOU BBC. Currently watching Flushed Away. Mmm Hugh Jackman with an English accent. Now he's singing. Halp. (No, I clearly don't have a crush on him).**

**Disclaimer: I got so much chocolate for Christmas help me I can't stop eating it.**

* * *

"You think I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy, Rick. You're grieving."

"Feels a lot like going crazy," he grumbled, "seeing my dead wife everywhere."

"And you know that this version of Kate you're seeing isn't real. You know that she's dead. Some people, they start to believe that who they are seeing is real, they interact, go about their life like it was before. But you know, and that's the first step."

"What's the second step?"

"Well, why do you think you're seeing her?"

Castle ran a hand through his hair and turned towards the window, staring out of it at the pure sunshine outside. He likes this room. The height gives him a panoramic view across New York, right now, clear and bright from the clear blue skies. The sound of traffic doesn't reach them up here, and even though he hasn't left the city, he feels like he's broken away from it. Has left it behind. "Rick?"

"I guess… there's part of me that doesn't want to believe that she's gone. I still believed that she was still in there, when she was in the coma, that they were wrong to turn off the life support, that she'd still come back. And maybe I'm holding onto that. Maybe this… the Kate that I'm seeing is the part that I'm holding on to."

Diane nods, unfolds her legs to cross them the other way. Castle isn't quite sure what he makes of the therapist. She's nice, sure. And she doesn't mollycoddle him, doesn't tell him he's wrong or he's being stupid, or crazy. And he likes her. He does. It's just… there's something that he can't quite put his finger on. Her eyes seem a bit too blue and her hair a bit too blonde. Too perfect. Trying too hard. But, he's not going to lie, she's good at her job.

"Does that make sense to you?"

"I… I guess. I mean… it still doesn't explain how I get rid of her. If I know she's not real…"

"Maybe you need to convince yourself. You know she's not real. You know she's not _your_ Kate. But maybe you need to be convinced that Kate really had gone when you switched off the machine. What did the doctors at the hospital say?"

"That she was gone. That there was nothing they could do, and I should let her go."

"And as clever as you are, surely the doctors would know more about her condition than you would. They were doing their job, Rick, if they had any hope that she would come back to you then they'd be doing everything they could to make sure that happened. But all the tests they'd done, they would know. You have to trust that."

"What if the tests were wrong?"

"You sent her to one of the best hospitals in the city, the best doctors money could buy."

"Money doesn't stop tests being wrong. It doesn't stop something malfunctioning, or something to print out wrong, or-"

"Richard. It's happened, and you need to move on."

Castle huffed and tipped his head back against the chair. "She won't let me."

"Is she here now?"

"Not today. She's sulking. Doesn't want me to do this, she thinks I'm abandoning her."

"She's told you that?"

"No. She doesn't talk much. I can see it in her eyes. It's like… she's disappointed in me. And I've only ever seen her look at me like that four times. There was the time when I looked into her mother's murder, even though she told me not to, the time when I was stupid enough to invite my ex-wife to the Hamptons, when I kept her mother's murder from her, and this morning, when I left. And I've seen her angry, she's yelled at me and she's screamed and cursed and walked out, and I can handle that because I knew she'd come back, but this…"

"Except she's not disappointed because she's not real."

"Doesn't mean that it hurts any less."

"I know, I can understand that. Okay. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to visit her. Before our next session, I want you to go and stand at her grave, for however long you're comfortable with."

"And what's that supposed to do?"

"Well, you've not visited since the funeral, and she appeared as soon as you got back. So, maybe, if you visit her grave, that part of your brain will realise that she was gone. Can you do that?"

"It's worth a shot."

"Okay, good. I think we'll end it there, same time next week?"

* * *

The sun is shining straight through her when he gets home. It makes her seem ethereal, like there's light spilling out of her skin, running like gold thread through her veins. He leans back against the door, listens to the click of the lock. She doesn't turn around to look at him, stays curled up on the window seat, forehead pressed against the glass. She's sad, he can see that, but at least she's not looking at him with those bottomless hazel eyes. Alexis has left him a sandwich wrapped in cling film on the kitchen counter, along with a note telling him that she's gone to the cinema and she'll be back soon. He eats because he knows he has to, rather than because he wants to, and it tastes like cardboard against his tongue. He doesn't want to go visit the grave. It's the one thing that he's sworn he would never do, can't bear the idea of standing in front of a stone that has her name on it, followed by two dates that are too close together for his liking. For anyone's liking. He'd rather make peace with Jim Beckett than visit her grave, and he hasn't spoken to Kate's father since the hospital, couldn't even look at him at the funeral. He supposes, now that he's had time to actually think about it, to think about Jim's reasons, he can understand why he felt he had to sign the papers. Really, did Castle ever really believe that he wanted to lose his daughter, the only family he had left?

Maybe he should go and see him, make amends. Even if it's too late, and his friendship with Jim is permanently ruined, at least he's tried. So that's two things. Two things that he'd rather not have to do, or think about, but he supposed he has to. He just needs to decide which one to do first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Phew. Okay. Warning, this chapter is going to b l. Or more emotional. Last chapter, and then an epilogue to come. Yay! I'll stop ruining your lives with angst! I think Jim speaks more in this chapter than he has in the entire time he's actually featured on the show.**

**Disclaimer: pls Marlowe more Jim Beckett I beg of you.**

* * *

Castle waits until the skies are clear, the blue sky one long uninterrupted stretch into the distance. No rain, the ground is dry, and it's warm. Warm enough, anyway. He doesn't bother with his coat, it feels too heavy and cumbersome and he doesn't want today to be a day where he feels dragged down. It's going to be hard enough as it is. He promised Diane he'd do this, and he's been putting it off and putting it off until his next appointment had come around. She hadn't told him off, exactly. Just reiterated the pro's of doing what he needed to. And he knows what he needs to do, he just can't deal with the way Kate looks at him. It's when he gets home, finds her foetal on the couch, dried tear tracks on her cheeks and her eyes out of focus that he starts to think that maybe, this would be best for the both of them. His imagination she may be, but it's causing her pain. He can see that. And if he convinces himself that Jim was right, then she'll go, and he'll hurt, but he'll heal. And this… this vision of Kate won't hurt either. And that's what does it for him, not that he's in pain, because he's been in pain before, and he can deal with it, but when Kate is in any kind of pain it tears him apart inside. So he goes and he visits her.

It's just as he remembers from the funeral, only this time there's a lot less people and he's absolutely terrified. His hands are fists at his sides, continuously clenched because he doesn't want people to see how shaken he is. He's surprised at how kind the paparazzi have been, they've left him alone, and maybe they're not quite as bad as he makes them out to be. They know when they really, really do have to leave him alone. But the graveyard around him is empty, save for the dead. He's not sure about the etiquette of sitting at graves, and he feels awkward just standing, so he sits, carefully. Legs crossed, hands folded in lap, his phone digging into his hip. And then he looks at the grave. There's fresh flowers – from Jim, or Lanie, or one of the boys, could be a handful of people – and he kicks himself because he should have bought some himself. Then again, it's a miracle that he even got himself here, Kate would forgive him. The real Kate. Not the Kate who occupies his loft now, but the Kate who was his wife, who's lying in the ground – this ground – dead, and pale and not breathing and _not alive _– and he has to move then, has to move because he can feel the bile rising up in his throat, the panic setting in his chest and he can't _breathe _can't _think_ past the fact his wife is _dead_ and in a hole in the _ground_ and after all he's done, after everything he swore he'd do to keep her safe, he couldn't.

He doesn't want to desecrate any of the surrounding graves, stumbles blindly towards a lone tree and throws up behind it, his stomach heaving, his eyes watering and his lungs empty. There's a hand on his shoulder and he jerks away, throwing his arm out to push the intruder aside, and it's a few moments before he recognises the man in front of him.

"Jim." He coughs, weakly, putting a hand out to steady himself on the tree.

"First time?" he doesn't let him reply, just takes his arm and leads him over to a bench. He can still feel the burning in his stomach and back of his throat, tries to swallow it down. He looks down to find Jim pressing a bottle of water into his hand, and he takes it with a smile of thanks, emptying half of the bottle down his throat before Jim can even get his bag closed again. "It's hard, visiting for the first time since the funeral. You almost want to pretend it was a dream, that it never happened." He squeezed Castle's thigh, reassuringly, so like the father Castle never had. "I'm proud of you. It took me a lot longer to visit Johanna. Kate would be proud of you."

"You're proud of me?" Castle croaks, incredulous.

"You're my son in law, Rick. You helped my daughter, you loved her, even though she could be stubborn and infuriating, you just kept on waiting because you believed in her, that one day she'd see. You helped her see that her life was not about her mother's murder, that she had her own life to make."

"But… at the hospital, I – I said…"

"You were angry at me, but I was never angry at you. You reacted the same way anyone would have done. You'd lost your wife. I'd signed her away. You had every right to hate me. So I didn't try to push, I knew you needed time. And it's fine, you know, if you're still angry and you can never forgive me, that's okay. I completely understand."

"How did you know?"

"Know what? That Katie had gone?" Jim shrugged, tilted his head in the direction of his daughter's grave. "Honestly, I don't know. Father's intuition, maybe. Or maybe it was her sheer stubbornness. If Kate was in there, she'd be fighting tooth and nail to get out. And I wish that I still had hope, your hope, that something was still in there and she'd wake up, and maybe things would be different, but she'd still be our Kate. My daughter, your wife. I've rarely been an optimist, Rick. I don't see the point in expecting that everything is going to turn out fine, even more since Johanna died. And maybe I gave up hope too soon, but it had been six months. People don't stay in comas for six months if they're going to come out of it."

Castle turned the bottle over and over in his hands, trying to think of just what to say. Funny. He's the writer, he's the one that has the ability to take words and paint them into pictures, yet right now, he's stumped. And he stays that way for a good five minutes, the only sound between them being that of the water moving in the bottle. "I… I keep seeing her. Kate."

"You do?"

Castle nods. "It's not her. I know it's not. I've been seeing a therapist about it, and she thinks it's that part of my brain that still believes that she was still alive. I need to convince myself that even if she was, she's not here anymore. That's why I'm here."

"I saw Johanna too." Jim admits, hands clasped between his knees, staring out at the middle distance.

Castle sits up in surprise, turning his head to look at the older man. "You did?"

"I never told Katie. I didn't know how to. So, I turned to drink. And it worked, for a while. But as time went on, I had to drink more, and more, until it was a constant blur of nothingness. And it wasn't until I saw how Johanna looked at me sometimes, a mix of pity and disappointment, did I realise just how much I was screwing my own life up."

"Did Kate know?"

"I don't know. I didn't tell her, not outright. But maybe she worked out bits and pieces. We didn't talk about it, not that much. Too painful for both of us."

"How did you cope? When you stopped drinking, did you still see her?"

"All the time. And it was hard to not go back to the alcohol, but I did it. And eventually, she just disappeared. I can't help you with this, Rick. You have to work it out for yourself. But you have to know, if you need me, anything at all, I'm always at the other end of the phone."


End file.
